Friday, July 30, 2010

Jimi and I took a half day yesterday, and now we're not due back to work until Tuesday morning.

I got up to an alarm at 6:30 this morning and went to work. (I'd forgotten to print off production schedules before I left yesterday. Oops. I really need to teach someone (Kim) how to do the basic computer parts of my job.)

I was at work for maybe half an hour, then went Krogering to pick up some milk, coffee cream, doughnuts, english muffins, cherry preserves, and strawberry cream cheese. Making that list makes me feel fat.

My plans today include:

~ Mowing the yard. Twice. Because it's that tall.

~ Playing on the internet

~ Playing Sims 3

~ Finishing Book 6 of the Harry Potter series. (New movie comes out in November; must re-read the books to prepare for opening-night viewing.)

~ Grocery shopping. (I love grocery shopping. Until it's time to check out. Then I want to get all stabby.)

~ Playing on the internet

~ Not working

The rest of our long weekend looks just as exciting. You're totally jealous, aren't you?

We thought it was a weed. (But no, we didn't pull it up, or cut it down. We just let it grow big and tall, next to the fence.) Then last week, it got big bulbs on the top, and I was all "OOO!!! Look! It's gonna do something!" Jimi was all, "It's still a weed, I'll bet."

But it's not! It's a pretty, pretty flower.

I have thoroughly enjoyed watching this yard come alive this year - when we bought it last winter, the trees were bare and the yard was full of dead leaves. This spring, everything started sprouting and blooming, and OH it was so exciting to see new things pop up every day and then watch them as they got bigger and FINALLY they'd bloom all beautiful and happy - it's just fun. I love that it's summer and we're still finding new surprises. I can't wait to see what this place looks like come fall. :)

Wednesday, July 28, 2010

If you know me, you've probably heard about Kat, my super awesome BFF from high school who was like a sister to me and with whom I could share my deepest darkest thoughts and fears and who was often able to finish my sentences for me, and how she doesn't like me anymore. That's what it's about, so if you've heard the story a million times or just don't care, you may want to consider moving on to some other boring things on the internet, because this won't be interesting to you.

But for the rest of you, want to hear the story? Here's how it goes:

Kat was my super awesome BFF from high school who was like a sister to me and with whom I could share my deepest darkest thoughts and fears and who was often able to finish my sentences for me. We met in middle school and became quick friends. My earliest memories our our friendship involve me arguing with my mom to let me ride my bike across J-town so I could hang out at her house. That, and us being mean to Tabitha. We were always awesome at talking shit about our other BFFs, but Tabitha was our favorite.

See, when Kat and I first met, she was BFFs with Tabitha. Tabitha was, um, let's call it "needy". (If you know me and you're reading this - reflect on that for a moment. I am calling her "needy". Me, the Queen of Need. Anyway.) Tabitha wanted to be all up in Kat's business all the time, because, well, after all, she and Kat were BFFs. Well, Kat started getting sort of tired of Tabitha hanging around all the time. I think she started making excuses to hang out with me, trying to edge Tab out a little. (I say "I think" because this memory is like 18 years old, and I may or may not be remembering correctly. As with most things, I remember the gist of the story more than the details.) Tab lived in the same subdivision as Kat. They'd been playing at each others houses since Kat had moved in a few years before. It was common for Tab to go to Kat's house after school every day. That started getting a little old, and Kat started telling her she couldn't come over some afternoons. One particular afternoon, we'd made plans for me to come over to her house after school instead, which was sort of a big deal because that meant my Momma would have to come pick me up some time later that evening, which was always a big deal because my mom (I see now) is like me and would really prefer to not have to do anything extra after work, and I can easily see that including picking up children from play dates.

Tab says, "Okay." But her feelings are obviously hurt. I'm pretty certain we giggled over that, shitty little assholes that we were. (Have I mentioned that somewhere right around this time a rumor started circulating through the school that Tabitha was a lesbian? I honestly don't remember where it originated, but I do know that neither Kat nor I did anything to argue on the behalf of our "friend".)

So the school day goes on, Kat and I talking incessantly about all the cool things we were going to do that afternoon (especially when in Tabitha's presence - girls are SO mean), and finally it's time to go home! Here comes Tabitha.

"Hey Kat, I accidentally left my key at home today, I just realized. I don't have any way to get into my house. I'm so sorry, but can I please come to your house after school?"

You know how this ends, don't you? She came over, Kat and I were probably not terribly nice to her, and I can't remember if it was a few hours or a few days later that we learned she'd actually had her key, she just didn't want to be left out. Hell, we may have found it in her purse that same afternoon - I really don't remember. But all hell broke loose. Poor Tabitha was accused of being deceitful, a liar, a bad friend, a lesbian, a stalker - any thing that was awful and hateful and could potentially make her cry and feel horrible about herself. Neither of us, not Kat nor I, spoke to Tabitha for the next year. (Of course I somehow made her actions out to be offensive to me, also. It's always about me.) We actively snubbed her. We continued to say mean things about her. It was part of our friendship, Kat's and mine, to be mean to Tabitha and talk about how much better we were than her. (We eventually outgrew the being mean part. We never got over the "better than her" attitude - at least, not until we stopped being friends, I guess.)

The silence was broken because of the Spring Chorus Concert at the end of 8th grade. I had a solo - "Grandpa", by The Judds. We did the program 3 times; once at night for parents/family/friends, twice during the school day that followed - once for each of two sets of students that comprised the whole of the school. Tabitha sent me a note after she heard me sing that said I'd sounded beautiful and that she loves my voice. I'm a sucker for a compliment, and really, it was getting old being mad at her for something so stupid, so somehow that note led to peace and BFF status between us again. We had accepted her back into the fold. But we were still WAY better than her.

That's what I think of when I think of Kat and I in the beginning. And I'm supposed to be writing about the end, but now I'm floating down memory lane.

Kat and I were friends in high school, and we claimed to be BFFs, but we were so competitive, I don't know how far I'm willing to go if I'm trying to be honest here. I was jealous as hell of her. I wouldn't admit that, of course, but for some reason I wanted to be her - i wanted her hair, I wanted her bra size, I wanted to make friends as easily as she did, i wanted to be as sweet and innocent as she was, I wanted to be admired the way that she was, I wanted boys to adore me the way they adored her, I wanted a mom as laid back and easy going and uninterested as hers was. I wanted an older brother like hers. I wanted to be able to have my boyfriend spend the night with me if I wanted him to. (Of course, I would've had sex with them, the way she never did.)

And I did not-friend-like things to her in high school. I talked shit about her with my true high school BFF, David. (He's also the font from which my Mormon/LDS fascination originates. I plan on saying much about him in a future post. I miss him.) I secretly loved that school was easier for me; math, english, science - I was better at all of it. I tried to convince everyone that I was way better than her at Drill Team (JROTC Sport - you spin rifles and wear uniforms and pretend to be, in our case, Marines). I talked shit about her when the Drill Team Commander decided I was wrong.

I totally kissed her boyfriends. (Yes, the s is there on purpose. There were two of them.) The first, I accidentally/on-purpose kissed back when he cornered me one afternoon outside the JROTC building at school. I kissed back, but only for a second, and only until he tried to make me touch his erection through his always-too-tight pants. I didn't tell her right away. Not for years, in fact. I told her later, but only when I was afraid she might actually consider losing her virginity to that asshole, who'd continued to try to corner me in the clothing room and behind the bleachers for the next 3 years. I never kissed him back after that first time, I swear.

The next boyfriend, though, I tried to steal from her. He'd been in love with me for years and now he was making googley eyes at her and it infuriated me and made me think I'd been in love with him and didn't know it and now I had to get my man back! So I kissed him, and he kissed me back, until I tried to touch his erection through his not-tight-enough pants and he pushed me away. I don't know if he told her about that or not. I did, years later, after we'd spent a year apart and grown closer than we'd ever been.

The summer after high school was epic for us. (As this post is quickly becoming. I always have been a bad story-teller. I never get to the point.) We spent the entire summer driving all over Louisville, up and down Bardstown Road, through downtown, over to the Falls of the Ohio, back to Iroquois Park, out to Long Run Park. All in one night. We went to parties, met boys, played pool, got drunk, smoked cigars (never cigarettes or reefer, though).

And then she went off to school and I met a boy. A boy she didn't like. (He was a dick - I shouldn't have liked him either.) And then she joined the Mormon Church. (Another reason for my fascination.) And then I moved in with that boy. And then she went off and joined the Army. And then i got engaged. And then she moved to Washington, DC.

And then, and then, and then...at least I warned you that this blog is boring.

Yada yada yada, she was my maid of honor when I finally did get married. She flew to El Paso to help me pack and move when I got divorced. And then we stopped being friends.

I wanted to go out and party and enjoy my newly single life. She wanted to scrapbook and watch "The Amazing Race" and "Survivor". I wanted to get drunk and pretend I was happy, she wanted to go to art museums and pottery classes. I wanted to smot poke, she was all "WTF, man?" I wouldn't give up my newly-found freedom/friends/life, she wasn't interested in any of that. I had a hard time finding time to fit her in to my new life. When i did, I was always under a deadline to get somewhere else, be somewhere else, be seen with someone else. I wanted desperately for her to join me, to be a part of this new awesomeness, but still, she wanted none of it.

Eventually, we drifted away. Then she said mean things to me in an email. Then she came over one last time. Then she wrote me off for good, and I've dreamed of her often since then. I wrote her on facebook and told her. She basically said "Oh well". And then it all clicked, finally.

There's too much history in a 14 year friendship to get it all out, all the nuances and intricacies and inside information. There's too much that leads to the final act, the resolution, the end. I make it sound like it was all my fault, and a lot of it (most, maybe?) is. But she is not without fault, and the true story of our parting has many other facets that won't be discussed here, not today. I'm sure no one's reading by now, anyhow.

But for the guilt I carry with me, I dreamed of her. Weekly, sometimes nightly. I was always sad, always lonely, and always missed her, and Tabitha, terribly upon waking from these dreams.

Last night's dream was different, as I said. It really did click, and I'm glad. I'm not so sad anymore. I'm not lonely. I don't miss her.

Tuesday, July 27, 2010

I cooked dinner tonight. (That's two nights in a row, if you're counting. Obviously, I'm counting.) It was good, but I'm mostly proud of the fact that I cooked a meal wherein I planned the portions accurately - we each got a good-for-us, filling, yummy dinner, and we didn't have the option of eating too much, nor were there leftovers to throw away (or store in the fridge for a few weeks so they can be thrown away later, after they've started growing things).

That's the extent of my excitement about cooking lately. I remember that I like cooking; it's the actual execution and clean-up that seems like too much to mess with.

Monday, July 26, 2010

I'm talking about those effing media player things that people have embedded into their blog, so when you open their page, you're inundated with bad music.

Elevator Music.

Teenybopper music.

Badtouch music that I don't want to listen to.

And it makes me jump every time. I like quiet. It scares me when the loud starts suddenly and makes me pee a little.

Okay, that last part only happened one time, but ONCE IS ENOUGH.

Please, don't put media players on your blog. And if you don't care what i think, if you insist that sharing your questionable taste in music with the rest of the blog reading world is a good idea and/or necessary to fully portray your awesomeness, can you at least put it at the top of the page? So I can pause it quickly? Or know it's coming, and maybe make a preemptive-pause strike?

Jimi and Steve brewed beer yesterday. They call it Ernge. (It helps if you try to sound like a pirate when you say it.) It has ginger and orange zest giving it its OOMPH - well, along with a lot of candy sugar and yeast. This is the second time they're brewing this original recipe - the first was 2 years ago and i drank almost all the finished product. (Steve says he's taking his 5 gallons home with him to protect it from me and my drunken ways.) This is no beer for lightweights - it packs a punch with 8-9% ABV. They bottled it the last time - they've since moved on to kegging the beer instead, and I must say, it's a much more enjoyable drinking experience. There's just something fun about a keg, you know? The word "keg" makes you think of a party, doesn't it? Whereas a bottle of beer - pshaw, you can have one of those any time.

Momma came over mid-day. I bought her a Sansa Fuze for Mother's Day. She says she loves it, but she has no idea how to use it beyond playing the songs I loaded on it for her. She brought it over so I could download and sync her chorus music, along with loading the new Christina Aguilera and Susan Boyle CDs. (She says Christina is trashy, but she has a strong voice.)

Momma was fascinated with the brewing process. She stood on a makeshift bench Jimi had rigged in the garage and watched as they added boiling water into the tank with the cracked grain, laughing when she realized it smelled so much like oatmeal. She asked a million questions, as she always does (and how it used to embarrass me!), and these two burly men were happy as clams to answer her every inquiry. They love showing off how much they know about making beer. Momma was super impressed.

Moving on.

Our yard is atrocious. The mowers are both dead, and Jimi's truck was dead until just Saturday, and then there was brewing, so we've not gotten either mower into a repair shop. And the grass keeps growing. We've got the biggest, most eye-sore-ing-ess yard on the block! Momma said we need a riding mower. She did not, however, ofter to buy us one.

And so the yard grows.

Work was hard today. I started off my morning firing the driver I hired last Thursday. Then I found out one of our "veteran" drivers (been employed more than 1 year), um, unembellished the facts of the "minor fender bender" in which he was involved yesterday. That "minor fender bender" will cost at least $3500 to repair - and that's just our truck. THEN, the driver who was involved in the not-his-fault crash 2 weeks ago? Comes back from the occupational physician with a note that he's starting physical therapy, tomorrow, at 10 a.m.

I got to re-do my schedule at least 6 times.

(Glad I went in an hour early. And skipped lunch.)

But now I am home. And I made dinner. (It's been my turn for at least 2 weeks. And I only made Velveeta Shells & Cheese with tuna. And Bacon. I think the bacon made it okay that I didn't cook for the last 2 weeks. Bacon makes everything better.) And I found a strawberry freeze pop in the back of the freezer. And there's still a beer or two in the fridge.

At 9:30 this morning, I was on my front porch, checking on the little plant I'd moved from it's root-growing cup of water into a hanging basket full of dirt. A gold Humvee sped past my yard, and took a sharp left onto Southland Terrace - the tires skidded in the turn, causing me to look up from my little seedling just in time to see the Hummer nearly crash into a large passenger van that was coming the opposite direction. The guy in the Hummer got out - skinny, dressed all in white, he stormed over to the driver's side of the van. The guy in the van exchanged some words with the skinny kid in white, then got out of his vehicle and clocked the Humvee driver right in the face. A scuffle ensued, and I went into the house to find my phone and call the police.

This isn't that sort of neighborhood, you know?

Of course, I couldn't find my phone. Jimi couldn't find his phone. So I kept going outside to see how the fight was coming along. Yep, still fighting. A neighbor walking his husky pup tried to intervene, but I guess the fighters didn't want to stop, so the neighbor continued on his morning stroll. A white car passing the scene stopped to watch the action unfold.

Eventually, the guys got tired of hitting each other and looked almost as if they were ready to shake hands and move along, then heated words were exchanged yet again (in Spanish) and lots of angry gesturing ensued. The humvee driver got in his vehicle, but refused to move his behemoth truck. The van driver pounded on the driver's side window of the hummer for a few seconds before running back to his van and starting it up, then passing the hummer by driving through the neighbors yard. As soon as the van was off the road, the hummer took off, so the van turned sharply and pursued.

Fun, right?

And then i called my Momma to tell her I probably won't go swimming with her today, and she told me that my brother spent the night in jail Friday night for public intoxication, possession of marijuana, and (possibly) possession of a controlled substance. This, after he got a ticket 2 weeks ago for PI and Possession while sitting in a buddy's car in front of my parents house. (The same buddy he went to jail with Friday night.)

I thought we were past this. I thought he was cleaning himself up. I believed him when he said, "If I work these two jobs, I won't have time to get into trouble."

I need a new URL for my blog. Something easy and creative and funny and, mostly, that will lead new eyes to my site, because no one seems to be reading this crap. Which I guess is okay, but the voyeur in me says "Why doesn't anyone care what I'm doing?"

Maybe because your life is boring, Natalie.

Shut up!

All the good URLs are taken. And the blogs they link to? Haven't been updated since 2002, 2004, 2006. I'm wondering if I have the URL for that one that was started in 2006 - perhaps I set it up under a different email account that I've long since forgotten? Completely possible.

So I need to keep thinking on this. I could ask Jimi, and he'd probably come up with something awesome, but then it wouldn't be as awesome because I didn't come up with it by myself.

Thursday, July 22, 2010

I woke up this morning with a pretty severe pain on the right side of my chest every time I took a deep breath. After I figured out it probably wasn't a pulled muscle (because let's be honest, I've not done ANYTHING lately that could have resulted in a pulled muscle) I kinda started freaking out a little bit and had the thought "Oh God, what if it's lung cancer?! I KNEW I was going to kill myself by smoking!" I've cut down to about 2 cigs a day, but still. The damage is already done from the 11 years I smoked nearly a pack a day.

So I made a doctor's appointment. I told my boss my lung cancer fears. He (who is a lung cancer survivor and now only has one lung because of his ordeal) assured me that maybe they'd only have to take out one lung and that then I'd get a morphine drip and "that's the good shit".

"I don't like morphine - it makes me hallucinate," I replied. I'm pretty sure we've had this conversation before, because this is the sort of non-work-related shit we talk about often in our little HR's Worst Nightmare office.

"Morphine's great when it's prescribed to you and you actually need it," was his smart-assed retort.

"Fuck You Boss! The one time I had morphine, it WAS a drip, BECAUSE I'd just had surgery, so there!"

"Really?" He seemed incredulous. One of these days, we're going to have to have a heart to heart about how I may like to smot a little poke every now and then, but that's as daring as I'm willing to be with drugs, knowing my tendencies to REALLY like stuff a little too much.

So I headed off to the doctor. Good news #1 - since the last time I was in their office a year and a half ago, I've dropped 14 lbs. YAY. Dr. R was super impressed with my Sudoku skills, and when I told him I'd greatly reduced the number of cigs and the amount of pot I was smoking, I didn't get a "I think you have a substance abuse problem" and "what are you trying to escape" speech. Always a plus, i think. :)

He said my lungs sounded great - Good news #2. He pressed on my abdomen just below my ribcage and had me take a big breath, and i almost came up off the table it hurt so bad.

"Let's do it all. I've got great insurance and I never use it, so let's just do whatever needs to be done to make this go away." It's true. I pay a lot of money every week to guarantee that if and when some medical situation does arise, I can get the best possible care without it costing me an arm and a leg on top of my payroll deducted premiums.

He ordered bloodwork, had me pee in a cup, ordered a chest x-ray (Good news #3 - i always like it when a doctor is willing to do tests to make sure I'm not falling apart or dying of lung cancer), and scheduled me for an ultrasound tomorrow morning. He gave me a script for phenergan, because apparently gallbladder issues can bring on nausea and he didn't want me getting sick this weekend with no relief.

I'm sure everything is fine. Jimi's being super attentive and sweet, (even more than usual, if you can believe it) and I love him for that.

I'd love to have a smoke, but man, after the thoughts that raced through my head this morning when I realized it hurt to breath, I can't bring myself to go out on the porch and light one up. Maybe this will be the catalyst I need to quit? Oh, let's hope so.

Wednesday, July 21, 2010

I can't make it stop. This unending, unquenchable thirst for complete details about the lives of ... complete strangers.

My boss says this makes me a voyeur. And you know what? If I came across a blog where some Mormon chick was talking in intimate detail about her sacred sex life, I would totally keep reading. I'd have Jimi make me some popcorn. I'd be glued to that shit. I'd ignore the stack of orders to be entered and the delivery receipts needing to be invoiced and I'd read that blog all day at work.

So yeah, i guess that makes me a voyeur.

I want to know the day-to-day mundane details of the lives of everyone. I want to know their secrets. I want to know when they have a fight with their best friends (and I want details, dammit! None of this passive-aggressive wishy-washy shit - CALL HER OUT!!! A link to her blog where she responds is much appreciated, too.).

My first real experience with blogs was LiveJournal. A friend had one. She posted all the good shit. And I judged her for it, harshly. I was a complete cunt, to be perfectly honest. There aren't many things in my life I'd do differently, but that's one. I was hateful and mean and I loved every second of knowing everything about her and pretending I was somehow better than her.

What a bitch.

Then my world came crashing down around me when my husband of 3.5 years told me he didn't love me anymore and wanted a divorce. I wanted the divorce too, but to actually make it a reality? Whoa. So much for my soapbox/pedestal. My friend forgave me, for some reason. And I discovered social network blogging.

People read my divorce blogs. Women sent me messages of support and understanding. I made a bunch of new friends on the site, and I was surprised when they didn't know my history, as I'd been blogging about ALL of it.

(I totally share the good stuff.)

Then there came Jimi. And happy. And I just didn't seem to need to toot my own horn so much. No longer did I feel the need to shout from the rooftops about how awesome my life was and how happy I was and how much fun i was having and how in love I was...living life was just more fun; being in love was better; loving was better; quiet, just the two of us, was better. Who needs to brag to the world when I had all I needed, right here at home, in front of me? And so we settled in, and the random messages stopped coming, and the party invitations dwindled off, and the blogging - what's there to blog about? "I went to work today and it was hard. I came home. I smoked a bowl. I drank a beer. We watched more 'Weeds'. We went to bed. We had sex. I slept like shit."

I know, you can hardly wait to hear more, right?

So that's why I don't blog so much anymore. Even though we bought a house 8 months ago, and there's always something up with that. Even though we bought a canoe a few weeks back, and have already had a few interesting adventures (one of which I started to write a blog entry about, but got to about 11 a.m. on a story that ended at 2:30 a.m. and just lost interest in telling the tale, but maybe I'll finish it eventually.). Even though there's a dog and cat that are always funny. Even though work is always fucked up. Even though, even though, even though...

But I still read blogs. O YES I DO! As often as I can, and when I've caught up on all the ones I watch, i go looking for new ones.

I love Mormon Mommy Blogs. I love any blogs written by Mormons. I'm fascinated with Mormons.

This guy is an ex-rocker who is madly in love with his baby girl. I discovered him after I fell in love with his wife's prose and frankness and their sweet love story through her blog. They recently learned they're going to have another baby, and I'm embarrassed to admit that I teared up with happiness for them, as if they were my good friends rather than complete strangers with whom I'll probably never share an actual conversation.

Seriously, So Blessed... is a spoof on Mormon Mommy Blogs. If you read the part where I love Mormons, and i love blogs, no further explanation should be necessary.

I didn't know who Dooce was when i came across her blog, but apparently she's kind of a big deal. I dig it.

This chick had four babies in 5 years. And she's like 27. And she's Mormon. I just can't stop reading.

And then there's Cake Wrecks, which I don't technically consider a blog, but more of a place to go to see pictures of awesome and ridiculous cakes, but it's still totally a blog.

So I've been spending all this time reading all these blogs (and LOTS more), and I've not been blogging myself. I want a record of things. I want to go back in five, ten, fifteen years and read about the stupid shit that was going on in my day to day life. (I realized the other day I don't remember anything about Book 7 of the Harry Potter series. If I can't remember that, how will I remember that super awesome canoe trip or the yummy lemon pasta dish we had for dinner that one night or the time the dog got sprayed by the skunk...wait, I think I blogged about that.)

As I was saying, I want a record of my life. If I have kids one day, I want them to read about what their momma and daddy were like before they came along. I want to have a written testimony to the good things in my life, the things I have to be thankful for, the blessings that come my way. And when it's not all kittens and rainbows, I want to be able to look back and remember the lows; to chart my progress as I grow as a person and overcome obstacles.

I wish my parents had kept diaries or journals. I wish they'd written more letters to each other. I wish I knew what sorts of things Granny and Papaw talked about when they were young - what their dreams and fears were.

Whether it's for a future generation of freckled redheads or just for a 70 year old version of me, I'll try to do better.

Monday, July 5, 2010

A, uhm, unexpected expense came up late last week, resulting in a quick alteration of our weekend plans, which was fine, because we don't ever make really solid plans and things were easily changed from camping to backyard barbecue. Jimi insisted on keeping the guestlist short, which was also fine by me. Entertaining is hard. (Of course, if we'd keep our house picked up all the time, or even the day before, it would make it not as bad. Having to get up at the crack of dawn to scourge the house before your parents and guests arrive - that adds an extra bit of "yuck" to the whole day.)

Today we've mostly bickered. I don't know why. Something in the air, water? Maybe I'm just a bitch - the bitch in the house. (Good book, by the way. http://www.amazon.com/Bitch-House-Solitude-Motherhood-Marriage/dp/0060936460 Highly recommended for any woman who's ever been accused - even if only by herself - of being a bitch.) So yeah, we've not used this last day of this lovely 3-day weekend to the best of our ability - we've quite nearly wasted it completely. I've considered going to work at least twice. Maybe I should've; at least I couldn't have been snapping at him then.

Saturday, July 3, 2010

My great-aunt Cill is several years younger than my granny was - she's probably about 65 these days. She's been married 3 times: Husband Number One was a devout Mormon for whom she converted to the LDS faith and married at the ripe old age of 17. A year and a half later, they had a new baby, and he had a brain tumor. He died at 19, leaving his young daughter and widow to fend for themselves in this cold harsh world. That daughter would live to be 26, but problems with drugs led to a night that ended her life either by suicide or murder - we're not really sure which. Her next husband was a Jewish man. They had two children together, and plenty of fights. She left when the infidelity and physical boxing matches became too much. Husband Number Three came along many years later, when her children were grown. He was another Mormon man, recently widowed, and he made her remember what love was supposed to feel like. He (ironically, tragically, horribly) died from brain cancer just a few years after their nuptials.

So Aunt Cill has had more than her fair share of tragedy and heartbreak in her life. She still sings church songs at nursing homes and revivals. She still cares for her ailing 98-year-old mother. She still visits with her grandbaby and her children. She has maintained a good relationship with her brothers and sisters.

Well, Aunt Cill has fallen in love. She's fallen in love with a man who is her double first cousin. (He is the offspring of Grandma's brother and Poppy's niece. ) Apparently, the family is in an uproar. Her sister says "She's making a choice there, like if she decided she was going to be homosexual." So, there, that's a good example of the thought-process of most of my extended "this is right, and that is wrong" family.

Fuck that.

I say good for you, Aunt Cill! I hope you find happiness. Yeah, maybe it's a little queer that you're contemplating marriage to someone who has such a close genetic makeup to your own, but you're not going to be making any babies together, so who cares? It's hard to find another person to share life with. It's hard to find someone who can light up the room and make the rain stop. When you find it, you'd better run with it. Here's to you, and my wish for your happily ever after!